The Words Unspoken
by I Dream of Peace
Summary: Sirius contemplates his bond with Harry on the night of the third task.


Title: The Words Unspoken  
  
Author: Celebrìan Emrys  
  
Category: angst, drama, POV  
  
Rating: PG, it's a little dark  
  
Spoilers: HP: GoF and PoA  
  
Archive: anyone can have it, just please tell me so I can come and visit  
  
Feedback: I know you are all capable of pushing the review button…  
  
Series: stand-alone  
  
Summary: Sirius contemplates his bond with Harry on the night of the third task  
  
Disclaimer: You all know the drill. All this wonderful stuff belongs to JKR. I'm obviously not making money off this, because if I were I would have a better computer! It's just for fun.  
  
Author's Notes: I didn't add anything new, just removed typos  
  
The darkness pressed all around me, surrounding me like a cruel mockery of an embrace. It was a warm night, in my dog form I was hot, but I barely noticed it. Night noise of the early summer drowned out by the constant roar from the quidditch field on the other side of the grounds. I had heard the change in tone, from excited cheers to frenzied, nearly panicked shouts. And still I sat there, in the pumpkin patch near the Gamekeeper's hut. Doing nothing felt like it was going to kill me, my worry for Harry, the son I never had, nearly overwhelming me. I did nothing because even if it broke my heart I knew there was nothing I could do--yet. And getting caught now would crush Harry.  
  
I had taken Dumbledore's advice and snuck into the Hogwarts grounds to be nearby for the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. Despite Harry's lack of concern, I couldn't banish my growing sense of dread.  
  
And for a while it had seemed like Harry was right; everything was going fine. I had vaguely heard Ludo Bagman's commentary as he yelled excitedly, "Yes, Potter and Diggory are both quickly approaching the cup--and what's this? A giant spider approaching Diggory from the left--I don't believe he's seen it! Potter seems to be warning him--" and I couldn't hear anything for a moment, then, ".Diggory seems to be helping Potter up, he's limping pretty badly--" my heart twisted at those words. Harry was hurt! At this point, I had finally given up trying to understand how I could care so deeply for the child I barely knew, and accepted what my heart was telling me. Still, injuries could be taken care of, and the fact that he was limping, bearing even some weight, was good.  
  
But when the commentary drifted back to my poised ears it was accompanied by the change in intensity and volume of the shouts coming from the quidditch field. And I knew to expect the worst.  
  
I waited for what seemed an eternity before I saw the figure of Mad-Eye Moody half dragging, half carrying someone up to the castle. Someone who was limping badly.  
  
My breath caught in my chest. Harry! It must be Harry he was taking up to the castle. I nearly started to run after them before I remembered my situation and dejectedly sat back down. I lay down, resting my shaggy black head on my crossed paws, waiting miserably for word from Dumbledore, or even worse a summons to the hospital wing.  
  
And so Professor McGonagall found me. I had watched her, Dumbledore, and Snape run full speed back to the castle, and watched her return. It looked as thought she had been crying.  
  
She stopped suddenly, taking note of what a large dog I was. In another time I would have been amused. Now I stood and whined, looking imploringly at her.  
  
"G-good dog," she soothed shakily, a combination of nerves and stress. I trotted over to her outstretched hand, and gently nosed it. It's odd, the need I feel to comfort anyone so distressed when I am transformed. I suppose it is part of a dog's nature seeping through.  
  
Minerva McGonagall sighed, apparently relieved she wasn't going to be mauled, and crouched down beside me, stroking my glossy coat. Then she buried her face in the thick fur around my neck, grasping at the silken strands as though they were a lifeline, and quietly started to cry.  
  
I stood perfectly still, and let her. After only a few minutes she stopped, wiped her eyes, and smoothed my fur where her grasp had ruffled it. I liked her face compassionately, the human part of me not even bothering to feel squeamish at the similarity the gesture had to kissing one's teacher. As I said, you're different as an animal.  
  
Finally she stood, with a final pat to my back, and said quietly, "Come," and starting briskly back up to the castle. I trotted anxiously at her side; my very human emotions of dread and worry rushing back to meet me.  
  
We entered the castle, and silently snaked our way through winding corridors and up narrow staircases until we reached the gargoyle that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's study. Professor McGonagall gave the password and started up the winding staircase to the Headmaster's study.  
  
At the head of the stairs, McGonagall opened a heavy wooden door and waved me in, saying with a sad little half smile, "The Headmaster will see you shortly." Then she walked out, closing the door behind her and shaking her head at the prospect of talking with dogs.  
  
I promptly transformed back into a man. I sat in a chair near the fire for a moment, but then knew I was far to restless for it to matter much, and so stood and began pacing the study.  
  
As I still am now. The building cold pressing my heart seems to be penetrating the room. I shiver slightly, and rub my arms. My finger catches on a string of my threadbare, nondescript gray robes and yet another rip forms.  
  
I pace to the window and open it, grasping the frame and sticking my head cautiously out into the night air. Logically, I know there is no one to see me, but two years as a fugitive had taught me you could never be too cautious.  
  
I watched the stars, my eyes automatically seeking the familiar constellations drilled into my mind by a long ago Astronomy instructor. I find my starry namesake, though tonight it brings me little comfort.  
  
I sigh and hang my head. Slowly a tear tracks its way down my cheek. I reach up and brush it away, impatient; fear and concern for the person I love most in the world filling my heart and mind to the point where it was difficult to breath. I couldn't lose him, not now!  
  
What a strange bond we share. Not one forged of blood, or time spent together, or shared happy memories. Perhaps one that was started by a common need to fill empty places in our lives, but one that has grown so far beyond that, that both of us had forgotten thoughts of replacement. The bond between us was unique. Long ago I had stopped thinking of the boy as a way to bring back a part of James. Just as now I feared not the loss of my last connection to the man who was a brother to me, but rather the loss of a child so dear to me I am unsure I can point out where my heart ends and his begins.  
  
I would gladly die a thousand times over rather than see Harry hurt. Any of the suffering he has born in his life I would gladly have born in his place. And if he died, I don't think I would be able to live through it. Nor would I want to.  
  
To have been so cautious all year, to have even gone so far as to lecture Harry in the place of his deceased parents, only to have this happen! I felt like I had betrayed Lily and James, betrayed my heart, and betrayed Harry. I should have done something! I should have stayed closer to his side, I should have just taken him with me and left the country, I should have seen he was better prepared for--for what? What had happened out there on that lonely quidditch field, in that god-forsaken maze?  
  
The waiting was killing me, but it brought an odd sort of comfort. As hard as it was, I could hide from whatever truth might be brought me. I left the window and moved to the fire, watching the ever-changing flames. Eerie shadows dancing across my gaunt, overly pale face, mimicking the patterns of the fire. I knew, however, that I couldn't hide forever. Soon enough Dumbledore will be here, and I will have to face whatever has happened, now matter how much I would like to find a time turner to go back to the last evening I was blissfully ignorant of any catastrophes this night would bring.  
  
What did I fear? It was a question I had to ask myself. Mostly losing Harry, but I had to admit it went deeper than that. Injuries could be dealt with. So long as he was still whole and still the kind, innocent--  
  
Innocent. That was the key word. I feared Harry would become like me. All innocence lost, his heart scarred almost beyond recognition. That deadened, haunted look prevalent in his gleeful, mischievous green eyes. I had seen the horrors of Azkaban and survived, but if not for Harry I don't think I would want to continue. I didn't want him to ever have to be chased by the nightmares that consistently woke me, trembling and sweaty, fighting off years worth of tears. I feared Harry have to face the world in the same manner I do; mistrust evident to all but the very few people near to my heart.  
  
And I feared for myself. If Harry didn't live, I knew neither would I. I feared death, but I feared life without him even more. If he wasn't there to brighten my dark thoughts, there would be no reason for me to get up each morning, no purpose for me to continue existing.  
  
Even when the dementors circled around me, my only hope for life resting on a thirteen-year-old boy, I had never felt so lost. Then at least I had found solace in the fact that Harry loved me. While I regretted never having the chance to tell him so, it had seemed to make it all worthwhile.  
  
But he had saved me. Hearing the cry on his lips as he faced the dementors down, with little chance of saving me had made me so proud of him. And it filled me with a burning desire to answer his plea. Expecto Patronum. I expect a patron.  
  
I long for a father.  
  
Behind me, I hear the door creak open, and catch a tiny glimpse of Harry's raven colored hair, as he leans heavily on Dumbledore's arm, a Dumbledore who looks like he has aged twenty years in the last few hours. Then before I can think about moving, I am at the door, clutching Harry's hand like a lifeline, helping him to a seat in front of Dumbledore's desk. I hear myself asking, distantly as though from a dream, even though I hear my voice as firm, persistent even. "Harry, are you alright? I knew it--I knew something like this-- what happened?"  
  
I listen to the explanation, cataloguing it for thought later, but now time blurs, and thought seems an action far beyond my capabilities to handle. I feel myself grip Harry's shoulder, insist Dumbledore leave the son of my heart, if not of my body, alone until morning. Then perhaps some of the shadows on both our hearts could be chased away.  
  
But now I hear Harry start talking anyway. And his story is more horrible than I ever imagined. I make a move to talk once or twice, but Dumbledore always would stop me.  
  
I do cook-up a fantastic string of curses when Harry tells us about that traitor Wormtail, he whom I had once thought a friend and was then betrayed by, and how he caused bodily harm to my Harry. I peer at the ugly gash on the crook of his elbow when he holds it out for my inspection. The Dumbledore says something about barriers, and Harry nods and launches into his story again.  
  
I try to keep a stoic front up, for Harry's sake, but when he starts talking about James and Lily, I find my face in my hands. My hand of Harry's shoulder has become a death grip, but I cannot realize it. It is my lifeline, my anchor to Harry, and as such my anchor to life.  
  
And finally it is over. My breath leaves me in a soft sigh. Dumbledore praises Harry, and I find my heart agrees completely; I will find my own time to talk with Harry.  
  
Dumbledore wants Harry to go to the Hospital Wing, and I will go with him. If I cannot be with him as his godfather, then perhaps I can at least I can bring him some comfort as a dog. I transform and we start down. We see no one on the way, and I'm glad of it.  
  
Molly Weasley is waiting with her eldest son Bill, Ron, and Hermione. It is harder to understand spoken English in my dog form, but I certainly caught the drift of Molly's scoldings.  
  
Harry got into bed and I went in with the Weasleys. I have every intention of staying here until Harry goes back to the Dursleys.  
  
Except, I already know this will not be. I could see it in Dumbledore's eyes. He expected Fudge to make trouble. Damn him! If only the Ministry would agree with Dumbledore for once. Everyone knows Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of our time, the Ministry says it all the time, so why don't they believe it?  
  
Because I know if the Ministry creates trouble, I will be sent away from Harry. I am expected to help lead the resistance. Being an escaped-convict does give you that sort of reputation.  
  
Conflicting emotions battle in my heart, the desire to be near Harry wrestling with the need to do what is right. Only one can prevail, and my mind already knows which it will be.  
  
And I am right, but not without a few surprises. After all, it wouldn't be Hogwarts if it were too predictable, I think bitterly.  
  
Dumbledore has managed to make everyone leave but Harry, Ron, Hermione, Molly Weasley, and Snape. In my dog from, I have to firmly control the instinct to bite the man. Hard.  
  
I change back into a man. I hear my own death sentence.  
  
"You will shake hands," Dumbledore is saying. "You are on the same side now." Shake hands? With Snape, my childhood enemy? A small part of my subconscious whispers for me to repair the rift between us, but my more childish waking mind refuses to let the past die. Juvenile, perhaps, but oddly fitting. Even now, in our time of greatest need, I can still manage to fault the littlest things.  
  
I step forward slowly, and quickly shake his hand. I let go hastily and suppress the urge to wipe my hand on my robes. Snape looks as though he shares my opinion. I almost smile, seeing the irony of it. But seriously, Snape and I are very much alike. Perhaps in another lifetime we could have been friends. Perhaps we still might be.  
  
But the fact remains that I have been ordered to "alert the old crowd". And as I predicted, my mind wins out over my heart; I attempt to reassure Harry, telling him I will see him soon.  
  
I can only hope I speak the truth.  
  
As a dog I run from the hospital wing. It is a relief; as a dog I cannot cry.  
  
I bound swiftly across the grounds, leaving my heart further and further behind, suffering in a hospital wing, alone, and frightened. With no one to tell him it is all right to cry.  
  
I wish someone would tell me so.  
  
Harry, I call silently, I will be back, for how can one survive with heart and body separate? I will be back, son of my heart, that I promise you. And that is a promise I intend to keep.  
  
I have already vowed I will not say good-bye. Good-bye is so final, too irreversible. So instead I will tell you what I have meant to tell you ever since that night last year in the Whomping Willow. That conviction has only been made stronger by your actions throughout the year, and on this night, in your final test of courage.  
  
You have already taught me so much, and I am sure you have much more to share with me. Or at least I pray that it is so. For you see Harry, in your struggle to find yourself, and in yourself your past, you have shown me how I might still offer you some comfort. How I might offer you that which has always been denied you, yet you give so freely. If this is the only thing you ever take from me, the only wisdom you ever hear from me, let it be this.  
  
I love you, my son. 


End file.
